


At the end of the day (we're still ourselves)

by Ticoton



Category: Original Work
Genre: Introspection, Original Character(s), Psychoanalysis, Sarcasm, Self-Indulgent, Suspense, but not really, idk really, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 07:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24347458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ticoton/pseuds/Ticoton
Summary: '/Something is wrong/, her instincts say./Shut up/, she answers. She doesn’t want to deal with trouble, thanks.Her blood is still hot under her skin and she feels more alert than she ever remembered being.'





	At the end of the day (we're still ourselves)

Someone called her name, she thinks. She’s not really sure of anything. Her body aches and she feels a little bit like she got run over by a truck. Someone called her name, she thinks, and she’s a little annoyed because can’t they tell she needs to sleep? Kids these days. 

She blinks her eyes open at last and something doesn’t add up. Her eyes try to adjust, but it’s so dark she can’t see anything beyond shapes, and it annoys her. Suddenly, she remembers that she ate the last chocolate piece yesterday, and she needs to buy more bars. The cashier was a piece of shit, and she kind of wants to punch him in the face most of the time, but she’ll suffer through it. She really wants chocolate bars. 

She moves, and her body protests. She hears her name being called again, but it’s fainter now. She’s glad, because she’s a bit overwhelmed with her senses now and doesn’t need her ears to join in. Faintly, she spots an earphone on the floor, and makes a mental note to berate Z for leaving his shit at her place. 

She struggles to sit up and gets a bit dizzy when she does, but she’s okay. She sighs. The room is a bit brighter now, though it is still pretty dark. Strange, she thought, that it’s black outside. She scans her room and notices that everything is out of place. Her books are out of order, and she sees her comics all over the room. Her eyebrow twitches, and she promises to kick the ass of Z, for being such a lazy ass. She sees one of N’s blankets, and wonders what had happened that she hadn’t had the time to fold them. Something feels a bit amiss, but she still can’t quite place what. She decides she’ll find out sooner or later, and thus there’s no need to stop basking in the quiet of her room. 

In fact, it’s almost too silent. Wasn’t there someone? She thinks she remembers someone saying something, but it slips out of her mind’s grasp as soon as she tries to remember. She frowns. She doesn’t like being kept in the dark, and she feels a bit misplaced here. She remembers with a sudden clarity that she used to be called Blue, and she feels the familiar rush of anger flow through her veins. 

She rubs her eyes, staring unseeingly at some point in the floor. Blue’s a nice color, she thinks dazedly. Blue’s the color of the sky, and the color of her old childhood plushie, and the color of the jumper she got from her mama last year. Blue is soothing, calm and quiet. Blue is a cloudy day with threatening clouds, blue is the sound of birds chirping at an ungodly hour. 

She hates blue. 

She’s not blue, she denies fiercely. She isn’t. She refuses. She eyes her room with sharp eyes, taking in everything. Blue is the limbo, she almost spats. Blue is everything she tries to avoid. Blue is the color of her room at an ungodly hour, illuminated by the moon. Blue is the color that most people choose. Blue is her old notebook cover, it’s her primary school pencil case and she suddenly feels the need to punch something as soon as possible. She thinks it must not be healthy, surely, this urge to punch things. Probably. It’s not like she cares. Blue’s the color her skin takes when it is too cold for her to bear, it’s the color they use to feel sad. Blue reminds her of something still and cold, unmoving, and she has to blink her eyes repeatedly. 

She kind of really hates blue, and she thinks maybe then she could go back to scanning her room. 

She still feels sore, but it’s not as bad now. What did she do? She can’t remember. Probably wasn’t important. She thinks she hears her name again, and this time she looks around sleepily, and is annoyed when she finds no one. Were they playing with her? She’s not a bloody idiot, and she feels her veins thrum with anger and the need to punch someone in the face again. 

She really needs to keep her urges in check. Someone might say she needs help. 

Which she probably did, but like hell was she gonna let some stranger into her life. Over her dead body. 

She stands up on wobbly legs and a foggy vision, but she thinks it’ll do. Something’s not right. She can’t quite put her finger on it, and she’ always annoyed when she can’t figure some out. She heard a voice again, louder this time, and she almost turns to the sky and screams for it to shut up. She had a job to do here, didn’t they have any sense of privacy? 

She spots a blurry jumper thrown over her chair, and wonders if she’s gonna have to do laundry again today. She did it only yesterday, did she smell? With squinting eyes trying to make out the rest of the room, she asks to no one in particular if they had seen her blue jumper so she could set it to flames. Her mama would be sad though, so maybe down with the flames. She double checks the jumper in her hands, just to confirm they weren’t blue.

They were gray. Which was odd, since she hasn’t wore gray that dark in years, and she’s not eager to play Nostalgia 2.0. She scans her room for the upteenth time and realises that her room is all black and white. She hears a voice again, almost in her ear, but she swats it away and continue with her inspection. 

She doesn’t understand. Her eyes search relentlessly through the room for days before she accepted that she’ll provably never see it again. She doesn’t care as much as she should, but she probably needs to have her vision checked. Wouldn’t want to daze around with half the vision impaired when it can be fixed. 

She thinks of the blue, blue sky, quiet in its acceptance, and wonders when was the last time she last saw blue. She thinks she might be going a tad nuts, but figures it’s too late to care and too early to complain about anything. 

The voice is nearer now, and she can see faint traces of red around the corner of her room, darkened by the night. People, she decides, are assholes. She wants to strangle those who came up with the idea that blue was soothing. It can’t even compare. /I’m alive/, she thinks, watching the red trickle down her wall. 

The voice calls her name, again, and she feels just a little bit lost. She knows what she’s doing is wrong, sometimes. She wants to meet this voice, but at time same doesn’t, for several reasons. Strongest of all is her desire to see the other colors. Where were them? 

She thinks she might be a little bit on the insane, but she doesn’t quite care. She concentrates on the task at hand, because shush, it’s important. 

She can’t see for shit though, and she struggles to remember how they were and what did they work, or is the the other way around? The voice calls again, louder and a touch annoyed, and she responds with her own annoyance. She was busy! Stupid noise. 

She stops breathing altogether at some point. 

She can’t remember what oraneg looks like. 

She can’t, she can’t and she can’tc and she can’t unserstand. 

‘Man’, she thinks. Blinks. ‘What?’. She kind of forgot what she was doing or why. What was it again? Something about colors, she muses. Red is nice, she thinks a bit dreamily. Her eyelids are drooping and she isn’t entirely sure of her surroundings, but she’s lost in sensation. She thinks that red is a common enough color, but isn’t quite so bad as blue. Red means fight, she muses, and blood. It means spirit and adrenaline, and she feels her blood coming to life as she remembers. Red is the mockery of the sky as opposed to blue, and it makes her heart soar. 

She is /alive/, she remembers. 

She scrambles to get up all at once, and is immediately reminded that she is already up. She is hit with complaints from her body and she hisses at it, annoyed. It has no right to complain, she told it firmly, not while she’s confused so it’d better suck it up. She regains her balance as she tries to take a step forward, eyes blinking back into focus. 

Her shit is still a bit blurry, she thinks , but it’s a lot better than before and she doesn’t think it gets much better than this for a myopic. She frowns. Her room is still black and white, and she realizes at once that it must not be normal for everything to be so still and quiet. 

It’s whatever, she’ll figure it out. Right now she has more important things to do, she thinks hysterically, eyeing the red dripping down her walls. She is pretty sure she didn’t paint any part of her room red, so it must be coming from the neighbour. She glares fiercely at the ceiling, and then at her floor. 

She realizes that she can actually see red, and gasps. 

Why can’t she see other colors? Orange? Yellow? And, uh, green? What other colors are there, she can’t remember. She feels uneasy, and suddenly understands when someone says they puke from stress. She thinks she might puke too, but she reigns it in. Like hell is she cleaning afterwards when she can prevent it. 

Her name echoes in the room, and she pauses. Who said that? She has half a mind to be annoyed again by this unnecessarily ominous voice, but she feels like it’s somewhat familiar, that voice. 

God, why isn’t her brain working today? Stupid little shit.

Her room is already starting to flood with the red liquid. She wonders if she’ll be sued if she sends the cleaning and plumbing bills to her bloody neighbor. Or if she punches them in the face. Probably, she thinks. She takes a step towards her desk and sees the red seeping into her shoes. Her blood boils, because what the hell man? Those were new shoes! 

She’s almost throwing her bloody shoe through the ceiling when she spots it. Her… blue pencil case. She feels a bit like snorting, or maybe crying a little. She turns around and is greeted with the sight of her old blue jumper, standing there in all its glory. She stares. It stares back. She glares, annoyed. In the half second that she takes to contemplate throwing it out of the window, she realizes that holy shit, she can see blue! 

She is incredibly disappointed that the second color she sees is blue, but takes comfort in red being the first one. Good old red, she smiles, even as her room continues to flood with it. She scans her room and feels euphoric in a way she hasn’t felt in ages, and feels the adrenaline pumping in her veins. 

Just like that, all the colors flow unbidden into her room, bringing a cacophony of colors she can’t comprehend.

Is that even a thing? She feels that something in that expression is misplaced, but doesn’t really know what it is. It’s whatever, she thinks as she watches flashes of yellow, orange, blue and red red red. She feels herself smile something maniac, and decides that she’s better off not seeing it. 

She idly wonders if she’s finally lost it, but decides that, ultimately, she doesn’t much care either way. 

Someone calls her name again. God, can’t they shut up? But she’s reeling, too far gone in euphoria to even muster force to be angry, much less to care. The swirling of colors eventually ends, or maybe it had never happened at all, but still she drinks up every new detail her room has to offer. It’s never been this interesting. 

She knows that everything comes with a price though, so she waits. She isn’t sure what it was that she did to unravel all this, but every change has its consequence, so she waits. 

While she’s waiting, she realizes that she hasn’t needed to squint her eyes to see in a long while, and wonders how the hell she managed not to notice. She almost snorts in self deprecation, but holds it in because this is not the time. 

/Something is wrong/, her instincts say. 

/Shut up/, she answers. She doesn’t want to deal with trouble, thanks. 

Her blood is still hot under her skin and she feels more alert than she ever remembered being. 

Her name is like a blast through her room, and she kicks the wall in frustration because there is still no one in sight. She is an idiot, she concludes afterwards, tending her sore foot.

Annoying Shit says her name again, and this time she manages not to have a violent reaction. She still wants to punch the voice in the face. She thinks it’s a justifiable and harmless thought, since there is no one to punch. 

It says her name for the third time in a row, and she thinks she hears a tad of frustration seeping into Annoying Voice. She feels affronted. She didn’t do anything! She’s halfway through shouting a threat when she blinks, slightly surprised. 

It said her name. It’s her /name/, she thinks faintly. 

She doesn’t think she’d have remembered her name otherwise. Is that why Annoying Shit kept repeating it? Damn, she was an asshole. What does it mean? Does it mean anything at all?

/Ah/, she thinks. Her skin is crawling. She’s all over the place and nowhere at once. Her throat closes up and she can’t remember how to breathe right. She feels herself trembling slightly, but it’s her leg that is shaking like a motorcycle on its own. 

She laughs. It sounds a bit hysteric, she thinks, high and breathy and she realizes it’s the first sound she’s heard in a long time. She’s familiar with this, at least. She breathes in and starts walking towards the window.

She feels trapped and sick and dizzy, but still very much alive. So she soldiers on and ignores the way the bloody red liquid is thick around her legs, making it difficult to walk. 

She kind of wants to punch it, but it’s not worth the mess. 

She makes it to the window, surprisingly. She thought she was going to pass out for a second there, phew. She blinks. And sighs. Her throat is still shit and she thinks she might be hyperventilating a bit, but she couldn’t care less about her stupid body. 

/Shut up/, she hisses to it. It ignores her, as it always does, so she ignores it as well. Two can play this game. 

She shifts her focus on her window. Where the fuck was she? She has half a mind to punch /herself/, because it seems so obvious now that this should’ve been a concern from the start. Although, no. Huh?

She’s in her room, she rationalizes. Her mind is clearer now, even if her body threatens to overcome her with spasms and half-assed breathing equipments. She’s in her room, so she should be in her house. She’s in her /room/, she repeats in her mind, so she should see the city view from her room’s window, one she’s so used to that it’s ingrained into her brain. 

She blinks once. Then twice. Then twice again, in quick succession. 

Outside of the window, the world is black. 

Ridiculously, her first thought was that they were under an apocalypse. She almost face palms, but manages to resist temptation in order to try and see anything other than black outside. She can’t. 

Something tugs at her mind, and she feels like she’s being an idiot without meaning to. Like she’s supposed to know something, but doesn’t. Her throat threatens to betray her for real and she takes in a large gulp, grinding her teeth together. /Not now/, she thinks harshly. She’s almost there. 

Her whole body is trembling wildly now, but she’s barely aware of it. It has something to do with her, of that she was sure. Her eyes and mind are razor sharp now, and she doesn’t know how they had ever been anything less. Everything she’s seen up until now was her room and her room only. The only output she’s had was Annoying Voice (she mentally bids it goodbye by flipping them the bird, because she’s sure she won’t listen to it again), so, clearly, 

Ah. 

This time, she does click her tongue in sheer self-directed annoyance. She stomps her right foot once, just for good measure. Idiot brain. 

Unbidden, dormant memories come back to her and she clutches her head, cursing her less-than-cooperative body seven ways to hell. She’s flying through years in seconds but she can’t concentrate very well because she has to focus on /breathing/. Still, she manages to grasp the gist of the thing and she’s relieved, mostly, because they aren’t living an apocalypse. She’s glad. She wonders if she’s actually a bit insane, because she’s always been joking on her part but now she has her doubts. 

She can hear her mind snickering back to her, sarcastic. She doesn’t need to hear the words to know she’s just been insulted, so she flips her the imaginary bird as well.

Her soul is black. 

She comes back fully to her body after this realization, only to be reminded that said body is currently betraying her. She coughs up a storm while trying to inhale as much air as she can, and she hates her legs for shaking so much. She can’t move freely now, what with the red already caressing her elbows. She doesn’t mind so much now, because she knows this is normal for her. 

Knowing isn’t the same as liking though, and she seethes throughout the whole experience, on the cusp of simply handing out insults for free. 

She notices she’s the only one black and white in the room now. She doesn’t know what to think, so she smiles dryly to herself. Of course she is. 

She gasps all of a sudden, and knows that this is it. She feels an urge to punch herself in the head, because who does that? Why is she so weird? /This is not pleasant/ she calmly says. /You are an idiot/, she also says. She wants to say more, but her throat closes and she’s two seconds away from passing out.

Man, was she glad her soul wasn’t fucking blue. 

.

When she opens her eyes, everything hits her all at once and she has the sudden urge to hide. Blearingly blinking herself awake, she scans her room. She sighs, a small smile playing on her lips. 

Her pencil case was red.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Please tell me your thoughts on this, all constructive criticism is appreciated <3


End file.
